Recently I was at an art store and saw and bought a poster that said "Take care of your heart." It was simple with a robot on it, and for some reason it really struck a chord in me. The title of the first poem is based on a joke between me and a friend.
Beast mode depressing
Letters from sixteen was intended to be a time capsule to look back on in the years ahead.
On the day of may 12th I opened the door to apart of my history I had only shared with myself.
These moments had an impact on my life in a way I can't explain.
Flooded with waves of relief and pain unlike any I've ever experienced.
But, I want to better capture and hold these moments.
I resent the idea of the pain he caused me to be smeared across every page of my book, as they already tint every photo I've taken.
I want to help those with shared experiences as well as have a place for those who lived through such experiences to go.
All survivors, every one of us, need to know thay wr have nothing to be sorry for.
Stories at the library
I remember the days I spent writing about moon bear.
I put hours of work into my little bear, and some friends for him as well.
I read my tiny bear book to anyone who'd listen,
soon someone suggested I should read to the children at the library.
I brought my clay bears, and turned the pages while telling his story,
And what a wonderful experience that was.
Today months later, I am excited for my weekly visit,
What a lucky life I live to tell these stories.
October
I see myself in many faces of the world around me.
I am walking into the graveyard while playing songs of days past.
I am keeping a dictionary with far too many pages nearby at any given time.
I am writing stories that of the ethereal that may be left unfinished and unattended to.
I am a tadpole in the body of a frog.
I am a bottle lost at sea.
I am a bear taking care of my young and the young being taken care of.
I am a homemade tie paired with a necklace made of crystals and safety pins.
I am a late night walk filled with the things left unsaid.
I am a notebook full of doodles, notes, and poetry.
I am a thrifted necklace you have yet to take off.
I am a well worn and well loved teddy bear.
I am a late night so drawn on that the sun rises before a night of sleep.
I am the sun trickling through the clouds and the clouds covering the sun.
I am a tree with shallow roots and leaves blowing in the wind.
I am a fog that protects you from what is behind you, and hinders the sight of what lies ahead.
I am Saturn, I am surrounded yet alone.
I not only see myself is passing faces but passing parts of life.
Holding onto you
In my life the one who kept me closest through difficult times is hope.
He is sometimes the only individual there to help when the nights grow cold, rainy, and lonely.
He reminds me that the lonely nights will only make the crowded rooms more loving.
He reminds me that the cold days will one day be overcome by a warm fire.
He reminds me that every moment spent in the rain is closer to the moment it ends.
In my darkest hours he reminds me every morning the sun will rise even after the darkest nights.
Growth of the lonely tree at the train part
Despite appearances I have spent much of my life feeling like the lonely tree.
I enjoy being amongst the other trees,
We all live together at the train park striving to grow further towards the sun.
Yet on some level I watch from afar.
For much of my life I envied the trees that seemed to grow closer by the day, when I'd never known such a life.
I didn't understand the distance.
I despised my very being for such reasons.
My roots, my trunk, my blanches, my leaves, I tried to see why I looked the same yet felt so different.
I lived in a constant sense of disease.
As the days pass, things seem to change.
I am coming to understand what it means to be the tree I am.
I have come to appreciate the way my leaves grow separately.
lines from an unwritten diary
I have come to feel comfort in the disconnect,
Living in an endless yet comforting fog.
Life feels like a tree with above ground roots,
Deep into the earth yet my most vulnerable parts are on display.
I am a notebook filled with entries, ideas, poems, and to-do list.
As I exist not as an individual but a recollection of memories and am bound by hope.
In fifth grade I had a drawing I added to in the quiet moments,
I am that paper, being drawing on in different ways as the days pass.
Although my ability to keep a secret is limited if not non-existent, I am a believer that I am far from alone in this.
We wear what goes on behind our eyes even when it does not leave our mouths.
In my life art has changed shape many times but I think writing is here to stay.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
